Bangkok Metro Magazine
(or see the Giant Robot version with pictures)
August 2001
A Room of His Own
Japan's highly efficient capsule hotels house hundreds of customers in as little space as possible. Amit Gilboa discovers that more isn't always better.
The policeman is directing traffic around a construction area by waving his baton over his head with one hand and pointing to the left with the other. The first thing I notice is his perfect rhythm and stoically motionless pose. A few steps closer I realize that he is in fact a robot. On the other side of the roadwork, another figure is guiding pedestrians with a deep bow - very polite and completely impersonal - and an outstretched baton. He turns out to be a real human. In this highly regimented society, it's sometimes hard to tell.
This regimentation is apparent as I come to terms with my "room" in the capsule hotel. Only Japanese society could come up with such a place, where your sleeping quarters are like a storage tube for a torpedo before launch.
The Japanese have an ability to substitute mental privacy for physical divisions. Taking my cue from the row of naked showering men, I sat myself down on the 30cm-high footstool and proceeded to brush teeth and scrub skin until I was as squeaky clean as a Japan Rail subway car. In such a potentially intimate space, it seemed perfectly appropriate that each man maintained a cone of silence, washing and scrubbing in his own private world.
After a soak in the bath and then a stint in the sauna, I wore my hotel-supplied bathrobe to the lounge area. Shielded by our robes, the guests could indulge in socializing. People talked, smoked, ate instant noodles and drank beer available from vending machines placed on every floor.
Other odd comparisons inevitably come to mind; the capsule hotel system for storing sleeping humans is remarkably similar to the drawers in a morgue used for storing dead humans. At the very least, this is the one type of hotel where the classic "room the size of a closet" complaint is no exaggeration.
Such comparisons are not quite fair; I found my stay at the capsule hotel to be quite comfortable, as well as quintessentially Japanese. I checked in after a long day spent mostly outside in Tokyo's cool weather to which my Bangkok wardrobe was ill-suited.
The capsule hotel's hot bath was exceedingly inviting: Japanese may be willing to forgo a room, but a hot bath is a must. However, both hygiene and tradition demanded that I shower before soaking.
It wasn't long before I decided to climb into bed. If the thought of spending the night in a box seems off-putting, it is important to keep in mind that the capsule itself is used only for the largely motionless pursuits of sleeping, reading or watching TV. A room which is one meter high, one meter wide and two meters long may sound small, but I found it cozy, as long as you remember to slide out of the tube before trying to stand. In fact, anyone who can handle the sleeping compartment on an overnight train or a one-person tent can easily manage a capsule hotel.
I was almost sorry to leave my little cocoon the next morning. The sheer practicality of comfortably cramming hundreds of people into a small space - all the while giving them a sense of privacy and well-being, makes the capsule hotel a quintessentially Tokyo experience.